


and the history books forgot about us

by irishais



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishais/pseuds/irishais
Summary: She wonders what he is dreaming about-- if it is of her, or if it is of war. Lunyx, post-Kingsglaive.
Relationships: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	and the history books forgot about us

Her fingers dance up his arm, a slow waltz across the scarring seared like horrific lace up Nyx’s arm. 

His breath is even, slow, rhythmic with sleep. It’s a wonder he can sleep at all, Lunafreya thinks, and half-expects that he’ll drift away into ash even while she watches. 

He had made a bargain, she knows; the Lucian kings do  _ not  _ leave such debts uncollected. They will pay for her theft of his soul, they will pay for these spare few days together. 

The tiny motel room is dim, moonlight mostly barricaded by curtains that are only semi-opaque. She likes the room dark when she sleeps, but Lunafreya knows that isn’t the reason for her insomnia tonight-- they are battered, bruised, weary to the bone. But airship gunfire still echoes in her ear, Nyx’s fingers lacing through hers and the hot-red feel of his blood pooling beneath her knees as Glauca looked down on them and laughed. 

(She is afraid, even now, even with the monster dead and Nyx safe beside her.)

In the distance, a daemon roars, but it’s far off, enough that she pretends that she could have imagined it, turning her attention instead to the worst of the damage down at his wrist. It is no great matter to call up that low-lit glow of healing magic-- the effort to pour it into his body will be what drains her, leaves her ashen and weak. 

He’ll need a better healer than she (better yet, a hospital), but right now, Lunafreya has enough power for short bursts of care, and it’s easier when he’s sleeping so that he can’t protest her actions. 

A soft grunt issues from his lips, as if she has suggested what she’s about to do out loud even before she’s touched his skin. Nyx shifts away from her just slightly, but he doesn’t let go-- she wonders what he’s dreaming about... if it’s of her, or if it’s of war. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither. 

But he doesn’t come to entirely; she’ll take what she can get, returning focus to the task before her, trying to erase the darkness from his hand, the lightning-strike scarring that covers most of the left side of his body. 

Burn scars inch back by degrees from his wrist, tanned skin peeking through the ashen coating that covers most of his hand, his wrist, striating up into the stark white shock of his shoulder. But for now, she focuses on the fingers, on the dark seared brand the Ring has left around his finger, a twin to the one she bears on her left hand. 

_ You gonna give those kings a piece of your mind, Highness? _

If he only knew.

They will be something to look at and remember when all of this is done, a pair of grim-dark wedding bands that tie their fates together, perpetual reminders of the longest night. 

( _ We will pay for this _ , she reminds herself, a sobering thought in the dark.)

Lunafreya curls along his back, lips pressing against his shoulder, and lets the magic fade. If she can ease something in him, just for a second, it’s worth the exhaustion that will overwhelm her later. 

_ I’ll sleep in the car _ , she thinks, tugging his hand so she can wrap her arm around his chest, inhaling the scorched-earth scent of magic, the bland floral of cheap motel soap and shampoo that has done little to make either of them feel  _ clean  _ again. Back to neutral, at least, the worst of the dirt and damage washed away with careful fingers, Nyx plucking bits of glass out of pale hair, Lunafreya putting her palms over the bullet wounds in his gut, afraid to do too much with the hot water beating down on them both and the world feeling so far away. 

Back to neutral, and miles to go. 

“Sleep,” Nyx mumbles beneath her hold, fingers twining with hers. But he is asleep again before she can argue, a split-second’s clarity, an effort to protect her even now. 

Sleep be damned; she will stay awake tonight, too, and watch over  _ him  _ for a change. 

(There’s no safer place to be, after all.)


End file.
